


A Different Beat

by Galadriel1010



Category: Raffles (TV 1977), Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Angst, Bunny in trouble, Case Fic, Cricketing metaphors, Crimes & Criminals, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Bunny, Love Confessions, M/M, Pastiche, Raffles is an ass at times, Raffles to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27916000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel1010/pseuds/Galadriel1010
Summary: Sometimes Raffles gets Bunny into the sort of trouble that makes him regret his life choices. The night they go hunting south of the river is one such occasion.
Relationships: Bunny Manders/A. J. Raffles
Comments: 20
Kudos: 29
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	A Different Beat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [equestrianstatue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/equestrianstatue/gifts).



Sandwiched between the social whirlwind of Christmas with all its associated glamours and temptations and the long-awaited resumption of cricket in May, if there was any period which threatened Raffles’s legendary cool, it was the damp, chill grey of early spring. That particular spring, you’ll likely recall, was especially inclement, with flooding reported across the North and the South West, and a thick smog that smothered London for weeks that seemed endless. It was through this miasma that I made my way to the Albany, drawn thence by one of those notes with which I was so familiar, and which instilled in me such tangled emotions of both dread and, ashamed though I am to admit it, thrill. I was near to as hard up as I had ever been, but it was not the money that attracted me. Not any more.

Raffles admitted me with his customary good cheer and waved me to my usual seat on his settee, where a fresh pot of tea was just steeping. We fell quickly to discussing the awful weather, and once again I saw in my friend the restless energy yarning to be unleashed, like a wild animal pacing at the bars of its cage. It was so clearly a matter of when, not if, he would broach the subject of some daring misadventure that he had only to look at me, steel-grey eyes aflame with the excitement of it, before I had agreed to come with him.

“Come with me, Bunny dear boy? I haven’t even suggested an outing!”

“You don’t need to,” I told him quite honestly. “I know you too well for that. I can see it in your face that you have some play planned, and I worry that you’ll go to the devil for the sheer fun of it when you’re in that sort of mood. So yes, I’m in, if only to mind your back and see it safely back here.”

“If only,” he scoffed. The firm mouth set in a line of disapproval and he looked at me again. “Tell me the truth, Bunny; are you really so hard up as all that?”

I wasn’t about to lie to him, so I admitted that I was getting on that way. “But the honest truth is that I’m more bored than I am hard up.”

“Ah,” Raffles said, “there’s the rub. I worried when we started this whole thing that I’d drag you in with me. I never intended it, you know.” He drew on his Sullivan and shook his head sadly. “Of all my crimes, Bunny, leading you astray might be the worst.”

“Well, then, it was done young. You led me astray quite well enough when we were still at school,” I pointed out. “And I don’t remember objecting overmuch then. Save to you leaving me behind, as I would object now.”

He laughed at that but didn’t disagree with me. There was no disagreement to be had, for he surely remembered those days as clearly as I did. I thought at first that he was lost in fond reminiscence as I was, but the sly slide of his eyes in my direction again and the proud tilt of his chin told me that his thoughts were in the rather more recent past. Sure enough, when he finished his cigarette he set it aside and leaned back in his seat, arms spread along the back, and gave me a proud look of master to apprentice. “Do you remember, Bunny, that first night we went out together? Up and down those stairs, and you standing watch above for me?”

“Well, how could I forget it, Raffles? I don’t think I’ve ever known fear like it.”

“Nor a thrill, am I right? Well, as it happens I’ve a not dissimilar outing in mind for us. Not our usual beat, but rich pickings, I fancy. And this fog will aid us. I went out for a walk last night and I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, it was so thick. Even sound is muffled on a night like that; it’s perfect bowling weather for what I have in mind.” He reached for another cigarette and offered the box to me, and I was more than happy to accept. “It’ll take a visit to the garret.”

I fairly lit up at the thought of the subterfuge and skill involved in such a crime. If Raffles believed a disguise were necessary, the crime would be quite something. I stuffed down my misgivings, fleeting as they were, and leaned in towards him. “I’m your man, you know I am.”

He smiled at me, and his sharp eyes searched my face. “I know you are, Bunny. I am glad to have you with me, my dear rabbit. Drink your tea and we’ll be on our way, then.”

“On our way?” I asked, fumbling for the teacup. “On our way to where?”

“Well, to the club for a good lunch first, I should think. I can’t say for sure whether we’ll find the time to eat this evening.” He was already up and gathering his things together. “And from the club straight to the garret. The weather is on our side, Bunny, and who knows how long that will last? No, we’ll make the most of it, and if all goes well we may have another innings before it’s over.”

* * *

It was to a very different part of town indeed that we made our way that evening, and we did so as very different men. Our fine togs from lunch at the club were safely secured in Raffles’s art studio, and in their place we wore the rough gear of labourers, our faces smeared with grime and grease. Instead of doubling back on ourselves towards town we headed south, on foot all the way, and across the river to Putney.

I had only previously visited that part of town on Boat Race day, when all the city seemed to descend on the waterfront in every form of vehicle known to man, and the streets filled up with a party atmosphere made yet more convivial by my lack of loyalty to either side. It is a handsome neighbourhood of wide streets and fine establishments, but that night I had no more opportunity to admire it than I had on race day, so thick was the fog. I stuck close to Raffles the whole way, fearing that I would lose him in the murk if I let him get more than four paces ahead of me. Occasionally we saw another soul loom out of the gloom, all of them gone before we’d done more than nod a silent greeting. I felt I should find the isolation reassuring, considering our goal for the night, but instead it filled me with a sense of disquiet that only grew the further we walked.

Raffles had told me little of his plans, as usual, save for the allusion to our first assay together and that we were making for a commercial building on the river, where he needed me to act as his lookout. Lookout for what, in that fog, I wasn’t sure, but if that was what Raffles asked of me then a lookout he would get. He led me a looping route up the high street and back almost to the bridge, where we stopped to shelter in the lee of a substantial brick building abutting the river. I could see nothing above the ground floor, but even in the darkness I got an impression of its size, and I knew that we had walked around two sides of it. Raffles tugged me by the sleeve to the water’s edge and pointed across to the river. “There, how far do you think you can see, Bunny?”

“Well, I shouldn’t say halfway across the river,” I told him. There was the suggestion of movement out on the water, but nothing more than indistinct darker shapes. “Certainly not the far bank.”

“Good, then I shall risk it. Wait by the door for me, and I’ll let you in.” Without another word he swung himself up onto the wall, and I realised that he meant to edge out along the narrow plinth, barely half a foot across, that disappeared into the murk. He ignored all my protests, and before very long I had lost sight of him. If anyone out on the river had chanced to look our way, at least they would have had no hope of seeing him making his unorthodox entrance to the building.

I, meanwhile, was left once more to wait and to keep watch, for what I couldn’t imagine. Not a soul came by that place during the long minutes it took for Raffles to effect an entrance and make his way back to the heavy front door. The creak of its hinges was the first sound I’d heard in all that time, and startled me quite beyond reason. I knew from the look on Raffles’s face that he’d seen it, too, and cursed myself for an idiot as I followed him in and helped him close the door behind us.

“Better not bolt it just yet, Bunny. The ledge is handy but I wouldn’t suggest it for you if we can help it. We’ll leave ourselves a chance.”

“A chance?” I asked. “What trouble are you expecting?”

He shrugged idly and led me through the silent hall to a cellar door. “Not expecting, exactly, just… being prepared. Nothing worse than being sent out to bat without your pads on. It’s a good opportunity, after all, and I’ll be surprised if I’m the first that’s thought so. Here’s the thing, Bunny; there’s a safe in the cellar here with some pretty pickings. Better than we’ve had in a while when it comes to moving it on, although nowhere near as pretty.”

“You mean gold?” I asked. “Or silver?”

“Uncut stones.” He grinned at me when I gasped. “Yes, I know. Just arrived from Cape Town this week, stored here for safety. And not entirely above board, if you get my meaning, so fewer questions to be asked should they… go for a stroll.”

I nodded eagerly. “I’ll say. How did you come to hear about them?”

“Oh, you hear all sorts down in the East End. Meet all sorts of interesting characters.” He opened the door with one of his favoured skeleton keys and pointed me down the corridor. “Now, Bunny, go back to the window and keep watch. The walls are thick enough, and I’ll leave the cellar door ajar. If you see trouble, you yell and you run like the blazes. Don’t think of running yourself out to save my wicket. I’ll hear you and go out the way I came: you’ll lose them easily enough in the fog. There’s an inn just down the river called the Bricklayer’s Arms. If it all goes to pot I’ll meet you there and at the very worst we’ll have a beer in hand and a story to tell, won’t we?”

For all he’d sent a chill of fear through me, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, I dare say we will. It won’t come to that, though. Go on, the sooner you’ve got that safe cracked the sooner we’ll be back and drinking better than they can serve south of the river.”

“Bunny,” he admonished me, “how utterly provincial of you. You’re right though. Go on, back to the window. Oh,” Raffles added as an afterthought, “better not sound like the angelic public school boy, if you have to yell me, just in case anyone does overhear. Your East Ender isn’t quite as good as mine, but it’ll pass cursory inspection. And I’ll go by George. You can be… John.”

With that he was gone down to the cellar, and I made my way back to the front of the buildings to the windows overlooking the street, where I could keep watch for him. As the time ticked by, the solitude and the darkness became eerie. More than once my eyes played tricks on me, and I braced myself to shout for Raffles before the fog stirred again and the apparitions dissolved back into the gloom. Perhaps that is why I didn’t see them in time.

The orange light of the lamp on the main road was barely more than a lighter shade in the fog, and didn’t reach anywhere close to the window of the building where I stood guard. There was no light in the room, either, to give me away, and I stood in a patch of shadow at the very edge of the window. A darker shape lurking into the fog resolved itself into one man, then two, and then three, who moved to shelter in the same spot where Raffles and I had. I hardly dared breathe, but I watched them for long enough to be sure that they had the same intentions as we had before turning away. “George,” I called, catching myself at the last moment and not daring to raise my voice any further. The men hadn’t moved, so I hurried to the cellar door and called out, louder. “George, I think we had better go.”

Raffles bounded up the stairs two at a time and took me by the shoulders. “Then go: why are you still here?”

I swallowed hard and looked back at the door. “Because they’re watching the building.”

“Ah, of course.” He grinned at me, showing none of my anxieties in the gleam of his eye, and pushed me back the way I’d come. “Not to worry, Bunny. You stay and watch. Keep tucked in. I’ll lock the door, then go out the back.”

“Lock the door?” I demanded. “What on earth for?”

Raffles sighed. “Well, so they don’t get suspicious when they effect an entrance. Look…” We were interrupted by voices at the door, and for the first time that night I saw Raffles’s elegant mouth set into a fine line of disapproval. “Tuck in tight, and let them past you. Then run like the blazes, the very blazes.”

With that he was gone, out the back window the way he’d come, and I threw myself back into my hiding spot behind the door in the first room. I was perfectly positioned to hear them try the lock, find it open, and curse whoever beat them to it. I heard their dire threats against us, their heavy tread on the fine parquet flooring, the creak of the door behind which I sheltered, and their crows of delight when, upon pushing it open, they found it met resistance. Me.

* * *

After my captors checked the cellar and found their intentions thwarted, and had done a thorough job of checking that I did not have the jewels they sought, they made very clear to me that they intended to make me pay for the slight, but only after they had used me to get back what had been stolen from them. Or at least what they had intended to steal from someone else. I protested, at first, insisted that I’d found the door open and tried my luck and had been there alone, but I fear my protestations gave Raffles away more than my staying silent would have. They bundled me, none too gently, out of there and down the street, instructions made clear by the press of a pistol barrel in the small of my back. I counted turns as well as I could, but it was clear that it was as devious and twisting a route as Raffles had brought me there by, and even in broad daylight I should have struggled to find my way back. I knew that we did not cross the river, but whether we headed east, west or south I had no idea. Eventually we reached our destination, in the cellar of a disreputable tavern on the end of a long row of cheap looking houses, and there they left me, bound in the darkness.

I had no way to measure the passage of time, save for an intermitted and, before very long, deeply irritating drip somewhere in the cellar. I tried everything to distract myself from it, from reciting poetry to humming Christmas carols, all while favouring my right wrist and supporting it as best I could. It wasn’t broken, thank goodness, but sprained badly, and swelling under the harsh bindings. In the darkness I couldn’t even see whether escape would be possible should I free myself, and so I gritted my teeth and waited, for rescue or for my doom.

When the cellar door next opened, it let in weak watery sunlight, the sounds of traffic on the street above, and two grim-faced men. They were cheaply dressed in suits tailored for men larger than them and adjusted skilfully to fit as well as could be achieved, fabric and styles at least two seasons out of date, but well-kept and spotless, a harsh contrast with my own working clothes, now filthy and torn. They looked me up and down like something one of them had found on the sole of his shoe, and then the taller of the two approached and poked me with the toe of his boot. “Well, I never,” he said, Cockney accent stronger than Raffles had ever managed. “It’s good of you to join us, Mr Carter.”

I kept my mouth shut and my eyes on him, even as his friend strolled around the room. Much as I wanted to watch him and see what he was doing, I knew instinctively that I did not want to see, ever, what he was picking up and setting down with those contemplative noises. Instead I stared back into the cold eyes of a man I suspected to be a killer, and tried not to let my fear show.

After a while of silent contemplation he smiled back, with amusement that boded ill for me, and tucked his hands into his pockets. “I’m a big fan of your work, Mr Carter,” he told me. “Never had a chance to see it up close, of course, but my boys tell me you did a lovely job of the safe. Thing is, they turned that whole joint over same as they turned you over and didn’t find a thing. Now the Peelers are crawling all over the place. Someone’s going to have questions to answer, and it isn’t going to be me.” He crouched down at last and his smile turned grim. “So you tell me now, where’s the pretties?”

I swallowed hard and cast about in desperation. “I… I don’t know who you mean,” I admitted thickly. His hand shot out to grab my injured wrist cruelly and I yelped. “I swear it, I don’t know anyone called Carter! And I didn’t go near any safe.”

“You’ve lost your accent, too,” he pointed out, and I cursed myself for slipping. “Do you know what, I actually believe you. Wrong place, wrong time?”

“Yes, that,” I agreed with him. “Just… just that.”

“My boys said you told ‘em you just tried the door and found it open. Trying your luck, they said.” He straightened up and poked at me again, only this time it was more of a kick. “Not your lucky night, was it?”

I laughed bitterly. “It seems not.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

My interrogator turned away to pace in the small space, and drew from his pocket a slim silver cigarette case. He busied himself for a moment, lighting one of the cheap cigarettes from an expensive lighter, and when he was settled again he blew smoke to the ceiling with a dry, cruel smile. “Well. Seems I have two options. One is I let you go and trust you not to breathe a word of this place, me or anything you’ve seen to anyone…”

“You haven’t even told me your name,” I pointed out. “And I don’t actually know where I am. I don’t see how I could tell anyone anything even if I intended to!”

He chuckled again and took another drag of his cigarette, then dropped it on the floor just inches from me and ground it out with the tip of his boot. “That’s option one,” he repeated. “Option two is I keep you here and see if Mr Carter has any honour. Didn’t even tell you his name, though, so you might be in for the long haul.”

My heart pounded. “Who is Carter?”

“Carter is the man who hired you. Finest burglar in London. You’ll have heard of his exploits in the papers.” His jaw set and he glared into the shadows, a good job as I must have paled at the description. “Oh, and he’s landed you right in it. You don’t even know who you’re protecting.” He pulled out a fobwatch and sighed. “Well, we’ll see if he comes for you or not.”

“Do you want me to send him a message, Sir?” the other man asked, the first I’d heard him speak. I did not want to hear him speak again.

‘Sir’ looked thoughtful, but shook his head with regret. “No, not just yet. I’ll make sure the message gets to him. If he proves intractable, then we may rethink the message.” He snapped the watch shut and made for the door. “Until later… if you’re lucky.”

And for the second time I was shut in the dark.

* * *

This stretch seemed to last even longer than the previous one. The sounds of the street swelled and receded like the tide and then swelled again. It occurred to me, eventually, that I had not made our rendezvous at the tavern. What was it even called? Try as I might, I couldn’t recall the name. Not that it would have helped me. I wondered how long Raffles had waited before he’d realised I wasn’t coming, and then what he’d do about it. He couldn’t very well go to the police, and if I didn’t know where I’d been taken then he surely had no hope of it. After that revelation I made an attempt at my bonds, but they were tight and my fingers were clumsy, and I fear all I managed to do was make them tighter.

Another door, which I’d not previously noticed, opened at the top of a flight of steps, and two men descended wordlessly, dragged me to my feet and shoved me towards the stairs. I stumbled up them, weakened and dizzy from the long darkness, and even the dull lamplight of the passageway stung my eyes harshly. People turned to stare at me as I was led through the snug and up the stairs, tripping as I went, and it was with mixed dread and relief that I passed out of their sight, for I had little help that any one of them would have lifted a hand to aid me should I have needed it, but being alone with my captors once more was its own form of Hell. At the top of the stairs they shoved me through the door so hard I fell to the ground, and when I lifted my head it was Raffles’s eyes that met mine, hard and unflinching.

“Well,” ‘Sir’ said, from his position lounging against a window. “He knows you at least. No point pretending now, is there?”

“I dare say there ain’t, Bentham.” Raffles turned away from me with a curl of his lip, disappointment radiating from him, and I cringed. He had adopted the part of the Eastender once more, from his voice to his garb and even his expression, and were I not so familiar with him even I might have been fooled. For a moment I wished I had been, for that beloved face held no reciprocation of my relief and pleasure at seeing him. He dangled a glass of Scotch from one hand, cigarette held loosely between the fingers of the same hand, and dismissed me utterly. “So you’ve got ‘im. So what?”

Bentham, as I now knew his name to be, looked me over again. “Well, now we negotiate.”

“Negotiate what? I heard you wanted to talk to me, din’ think it’d be about ‘im.”

“He was your lookout.”

“Not much of one,” Raffles pointed out, laughing freely. “You didn’t need to truss ‘im up for me. He’s nowt, just an expense I don’t ‘ave any more.”

Bentham sighed, clucked his tongue and drew a pistol from his pocket. “So you’ll have no objections if I…”

“Wait!” I croaked, and at the same time Raffles leaped to his feet. The two of them faced each other down, Bentham smug and Raffles furious, until Bentham gestured him back to his chair with the gun. “Yes, I thought so,” he said. “He does matter.”

“He’s my responsibility,” Raffles snarled. “I keep my bargains, you knows I do. My word is solid.”

“And you gave him your word. Of course.” He held his free hand out and waggled his fingers, a delighted, cruel smile lighting his face. “Then let’s bargain. Those stones you took for your honour.”

Raffles bristled. “What makes you think I ‘ave ‘em wiv me?”

The gun wavered back in my direction, but Bentham’s smile didn’t falter. “I think you know what you came ‘ere for, Mr Carter.”

The silence clung, seeping through the room like that blasted smog until, with a growl, Raffles reached into his overcoat. “I only brought ‘alf,” he snarled. “Fair’s fair, since I did all the work for you.”

“As you say, fair is fair.” Bentham held his hand out again, and when Raffles slapped a small packet into his hand he hefted it thoughtfully. “You won’t mind if I check?”

Raffles waved his hand in invitation, and whilst Bentham passed the gun to one of his heavies Raffles dropped to his knees beside me and cut my bindings. His touch was cold, impersonal, and when he met my gaze again his expression was dismissive and so disappointed my stomach turned. Nevertheless he helped me to my feet and all but shoved me into a chair, then poured another glass of Scotch without waiting for an invitation and slammed it down in front of me. After not eating for at least a day, it went straight to my head and I began to feel quite faint. He cursed me again and took it from me to down the last half of it himself. “Useless lump,” he growled, although I fancied he didn’t think I could hear him. “Why couldn’t you follow a simple instruction?”

“Ah, it takes time to find the right partners, Mr Carter.” Bentham had finished his checks and now had his hand held out. “I reckon you’ve done me a little more than half there, and fair’s fair as you say. I’ll let you and your associate go, and next time you need help, maybe you’ll call on me instead.”

“And you’ll lend a hand?” Raffles enquired.

Bentham laughed. “Lor’ bless you, no. But I’ll know someone who can.”

“I’ll consider it.” Raffles stared at Bentham’s hand, then reached out and gripped it tight. “Next time I’m in London.”

The rest of the conversation passed in a blur, and the next thing I knew we were in the smoky fug of a snug, tucked away in a corner but with no more security and privacy than was offered by the shadows and a wooden partition that stood a little above our heads. A serving girl brought a pot of coffee and a pair of hefty beef sandwiches, and Raffles caught her attention before she whisked off again. “Excuse me, but do you have any rooms available for tonight? My friend has had quite the shock, and I think it would help if we could clean him up at least.”

Already his thick Eastender accent had slipped away, not yet replaced by the public school perfection I was used to, but more rounded and smoother. More tremulous, too. She looked at the pair of us with an expression of nervous concern. “I should think so, and I can certainly find out for you. Mr…”

“Abel,” he told her. “Gregory Abel. And this is Joseph. He was attacked on his way here, would you believe?”

“How awful! I could send for the police for you?”

Raffles shook his head sadly. “Won’t do a lick of good, I’m afraid, he didn’t get a look at them.”

“I’ll look at sorting you both a room, Mr Abel, and have hot water sent right up there. You drink your coffee,” she told me warmly. “You’ll feel better with a hot drink inside you.”

That was possible but unlikely, for the cold I felt came not from the night I’d spent in the cellars, or from my rough treatment at the hands of Bentham and his thugs, but from that I received from the brute at my side. Raffles pushed the coffee and one of the sandwiches towards me and then sank into one of his moods, arms folded across his chest and jaw working whilst he thought, probably about those blasted gems. I drank up as I’d been told with shaking hands, and devoured the sandwich when I finally turned my attention to it, then the other when Raffles pushed it towards me absently. By the time the serving girl returned both our plates were clear and the coffee pot drained, and I was feeling physically revived at the very least.

“If you follow me, gentlemen, I’ll show you to your room.” She gave me another concerned look as she led us from the snug and out into the yard, when up a staircase to the gallery, where baskets of green new growth promised garlands of flower later in the year. A few men loitered in the yard below and gave us barely more than a cursory glance as we ascended. For all that it was quiet, and the hefty beam that propped the two buildings either side of the yard apart from each other was more than a little concerning, the yard was swept clean and every pane of glass in every window shone in the afternoon sunshine. The room we were led to matched the yard. Sparse but spotlessly clean, with one large bed and the promised jug of water steaming on a washstand, along with – Lord be praised – wash things and a shaving kit.

All of that could wait, though. As soon as the door was closed behind us and we were alone, Raffles rounded on me with fire in his eyes and gripped me by the shoulders. “Damnit to hell, Bunny, what happened? I waited for you at the Bricklayer’s Arms nearly all night, no sign of you, and no sign of you at Montague Street either! And the next whisper I get of you is from Bentham, of all people. That was a fine stew you landed yourself in and no mistake.”

“I landed myself in?” I asked, incredulously. “They took me straight from Putney. I didn’t even make it onto the street, or you can be sure I would have been there to meet you at the Bricklayer’s! What were you doing down in that cellar that took you so long, if you had the gems?”

He cursed and turned away, mouth tight. “Never mind that, Bunny…”

“I will mind it!” I insisted hotly. Shame and anger now burned where cold grief had consumed me, and it would not be denied. “How long was I in that cellar, then? A day at least. Two? And all because you couldn’t get in and out of there like I thought was the plan. Who is Bentham, anyway? You knew each other, that much is plain.”

“Yes, and now he has the measure of me, Bunny. I’ll be his rabbit, or so he thinks.” Raffles looked me up and down again. “It was a day and a half. We had that lunch appointment, you remember, with Archie Kellingham.”

“And you knew when I didn’t show up for that that I was really missing?”

“No, you ass,” he scoffed. “I already knew that well enough. But I couldn’t let on, could I? I had to play the fool, act like I knew nothing about your disappearance at all.” As he spoke he reached into his pocked for his Sullivans, which I noted were not in their usual silver case, and offered me one before lighting them. “I knew you wouldn’t give me up, Bunny, but if Bentham had got even an inkling of who you were it would have landed me right in it if I knew you were missing.”

I couldn’t have been more hurt if he’d struck me. The idea of him at lunch with Kellingham, all smiles and good cheer whilst I lay in that cellar was more than I could bear, and I told him so in so many words. He watched me in silence, face inscrutable, until I’d worn myself out. And them, without a shred of guilt or sympathy, he stubbed out his Sullivan and sighed. “Well, Bunny, I hope you feel better for that.”

“Better for it?” I demanded, quite overcome. How he could stand there unaffected whilst I poured out my fear and anger at him, I couldn’t understand, and it only fanned the shame into a greater conflagration in me. I longed for him to break, and that was the worst of it. I wanted him to show that he felt just a fraction of what I did, and for once I needed him to know that. Needed him to know just how much of me he held in his skilled but careless hands. “I sometimes wish I didn’t love you,” I snarled, caught up in my hurt, “for then you couldn’t hurt me half as much as you do.”

For the first time that day, actual surprise lit in Raffles’s eyes. He regarded me carefully, looking for what I couldn’t say, and gave me one of those laconic smiles that on any other day would have turned my blood to flame in a very different way. That day it only enraged me further. “Careful, Bunny,” he said, “a fellow might misinterpret that.”

“He can interpret it how he likes and he’ll be right just the same.” His expression had closed off again, fine lips set firm and eyes as cold as steel. Mine, by contrast, must have been about as open as he had ever seen it. I could hide nothing from him and didn’t even try, because the tears pricking at my eyes were the lesser of my shames. “Whatever ways you can name for a man to love another, AJ, I have lived them all for you. And I know I can’t expect you to return them all, I never would, but sometimes I feel you don’t care for me at all!”

“Bunny…”

I cut him off. “I thought of nothing but you. In that cellar, in the dark and the damp, nothing mattered but getting to you. And you were at lunch…”

“Thinking of nothing but you, my darling rabbit.” He sprang into action at last and crossed what little space had stood between us in two strides and his elegant fingers gripped my chin gently, holding me in place and forcing me to meet his gaze. All chill was gone from him now, and in its place was a desperate, wild passion; guilt, grief, confusion and the stirrings of joy all mingled in a maelstrom. I gripped his wrists in my own trembling fingers and couldn’t have looked away even without his gentle touch holding me in place. “If you had been hurt because of me…”

“You told Bentham I was a burden you were happy to be rid of.”

“I lied.” He seemed to catch up with what I’d said and a flash of irritation crossed his face. “Bunny…”

I sighed. “Yes, I know. I should be used to it by now.”

“You shouldn’t have to be.” Raffles searched my face again, worried. “Did you mean what you said before?”

“That I love you?”

“That you wish you didn’t.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t hold his gaze any longer, and dropped my eyes to the collar of his rough workman’s shirt. It reminded me abruptly of all that had happened, of my thoroughly disreputable – and tired, sore and aching – state. Unshaven, two days of stubble prickling against Raffles’s fingers, mud and damp soaking through my clothes, my wrist still aching and sore after the harsh treatment of the last day and a half spent in a dark cellar, all because I’d followed him blindly once more. I couldn’t lie to him, and didn’t try. “No, never. Although I’ve wished at times that I wished it.”

Raffles’s fingers curled under my chin, holding me as delicately as a crystal figurine. They guided my gaze up to meet his again, and then his eyes held me as securely as any lock. I didn’t dare to hope, barely dared to breathe, and then his lips were on mine and I let out a peculiar, desperate, pleading whine. It was the briefest press, but when he pulled back his eyes were aflame once more. “Me too, Bunny,” he murmured, and I couldn’t remember what it was he was agreeing with. “You can’t understand how much.”

“Raffles?”

“My dear rabbit, no day of my life has been more momentous, more serendipitous or more beloved than the day you came to me at the Albany. Your pluck, tenacity, loyalty, and above all your company are the greatest gift I have ever been given. And I’m sorry that in return all I do is get you into these terrible scrapes because I can’t bring myself to go without you.” His thumbs brushed my cheeks and I got lost in the oceans of his eyes. “Can you forgive me, Bunny?”

I may have swayed where I stood, and in my exhausted state it was only Raffles’s hands flying to my shoulders that kept me up. My eyes stung once more. “Of course, AJ,” I gasped. “Of course! Always and anything, you know that.”

“Oh Bunny.” He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead and then eased me towards the bed. “Here, get yourself off to bed, there’s a good rabbit. You’re exhausted. Sleep for as long as you need, and we’ll deal with everything else after that.”

I did as I was told, as I always did, and slipped under the blankets. They were cold at first but soon warmed. My eyes slipped closed before I was ready, and I forced them open again to search out my friend. “Will you stay, Raffles?”

He pulled the blankets up over me gently and rested a hand on my shoulder. “I have some errands to run, fresh clothes to fetch. But I’ll be back just as soon as I can, I promise.”

That was enough for me. I allowed exhaustion to pull me under, content and safe once more in Raffles’s care.


End file.
